She tattooed me

I love Becca because she's my punk rock dream girl. Two weeks ago while drunk at a house party in Flagstaff at 4 a.m., she graffitied my shoes.

What seems apropos is that I feel somewhat punk rock wearing these shoes, but Becca always bests me. No matter what crazy story I have, hers always seems more awesome, more natural, and more sincere. Having her graffiti on my most punk rock of my punk rock shoes feels like she's welcoming me into her fold.

The older we get the closer our two paths seem to merge. Unusually it's me bringing her as a Parvalus into my traditions, cliques and social circles; it feels welcoming to be on the receiving end as an Erus.

My Best Day in Months

Manifest Destiny and I spend two days in Flagstaff last week. Two days of poetry, booze, conversation, wandering and passing out at odd places. The best part of it all was spending 11 hours with Becca Allen who, incidentally, looks far less goofy in person than on my camera phone.

My Best Day in Months

when I said it was my best day in months
I meant it
despite the drunken stumbling
the late-night cold
and breaking a lock to a public building
an hour before dawn
just to find a place to sleep

it was a good day
because so much of it was with her
swallowed in the warmth of her smile
as she tripped over herself
like always
unable to keep herself upright
I admire her clumsiness
because of its familiarity
the way she could hardly
keep her feet beneath herself near me
our twin orbits
pulling each other's equilibriums off-kilter
so we seem to slide into each other
as we have in the years of our courtship
that's what I call it anyway
she'd say were lurching toward insanity
as we bicker and part ways
for months at a time
only colliding together
when she chooses to miss me
never soon enough
never often enough

it was a good day
because for a few sweet hours
I felt hers
sprawled out her bed
as she picked up her laundry
or became familiar in her shower
with all the solutions and cleansers she uses
or as she gave me 9 gigs of music
knowing my lacking taste
I felt hers
for the first time in years
I would those moments last for years
if I had the power
but lacking anything beyond memory
I catalogued all the moments
as best I could
knowing I'd pen poems like these
for each one worth remembering
taking snapshots every few seconds
whenever she flashed a smile
over her boyfriend's shoulder
yes, he was there, too
oblivious to the details of our history
the living-room floor half-nude wrestling
the wine-fueled sleepovers
when you drank too much
and I forgot my name
the first time we fucked
mid-party with 70 friends
watching our foreplay
she kept her mouth silent
and I offered no insight
into our closeness
she consistently called me "friend"
though I interpreted it as "lover"
and hoped no one understood our dialect
with the same fluency

it was a good day despite the broken heart
of seeing her happy
with someone who wasn't me
but all my sins
made this inevitable
someday, when someone mistakes
all my poetry too seriously
my sins will become infamous
in the annals of romance
catalogued and cross-referenced
but for now,
my sins are still unfinished
I have dozens more love affairs
to trainwreck into oblivion
more relationships to ruin
more unkind words
spoken at just the wrong time
to demolish some sacred moment
my love is nothing if not entertaining
to those not caught in my crosshairs
with friends like me
who needs enemies?
so I can’t blame her
for choosing a better option
than what I could muster at the moment

it was a good day
one that made me want to be a better man
for a thousand different ways
I can't express to her with my succinctness
but it drained me of illusions for days
as if I could see the future
just a few moments ahead
and more aware of the beauty around me
the small things I used to embrace
years ago when I called myself "poet"
for the first time:
the flight of dragonflies
making love in the morning
the heady residue
in a pint of beer
the echo of small talk
in a crowded bar
as I scribbled this down
the feeling of being crestfallen for far too long
I've never felt this broken before
not this broken for this long
with no seeming way out

I needed to fall
have my wings clipped
suffer for my vanity
my unwillingness to forgive
my pride, which will one day
damn me to a sudden death
I want to live a cliché life sometimes
the 2.5 kids, housewife,
boring but steady job
and a dog bearing slippers
with all my potential poetry
locked in the closet of my mind
and no recollection of artistry
because this life is too hard
the loneliness, the hangovers
the desperate lurch from paycheck to paycheck
breaking me beneath its boot heel
wondering if today I'l pay for food
or car registration --

but I have to quantify this pressure
lest my mother again mistake these complaints
for suicidal thoughts
and I get another late-night call
to explain that poets only kill themselves
when they have nothing else to write
not when they're writing it all down --

I have no recourse but to endure
pray for better days
to celebrate surviving poverty
and I hope she's there
with open arms when I rise up
eager to hold me again
and recall this as just one good day
after so many piss-poor ones

this was a good day
because she was in it
and tomorrow is another chance
to see her again

Sarrah is gone ...

Sarrah at Johnnie's Cafe, 433 1st Ave. S., Glasgow, Mont. Sarrah and I had gone to Fort Peck Dam, a massive which is the largest hydraulically filled dam in the United States.
Authorized by President Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1933, construction of Fort Peck Dam employed over 11,000 workers at its peak in 1939, one of whom was my great-grandfather.
The dam, named for a 19th-century trading post, was completed in 1940, and began generating electricity in July 1943. The dam created Fort Peck Lake, the fifth largest lake in the U.S.
Sarrah and I also have an unnatural obsession with dinosaurs. Just down the way from the dam power stations is a dinosaur museum, which we spent hours in. The tour of the dam power stations only happened because a tour guide asked if we wanted to see it.
On our way back to Opheim, we stopped at Johnnie's.

This is definitely my favorite photograph of Sarrah. I have an 8x10 print of it up in my room. After two weeks in Montana, we were on our last, long drive home. The drive from Livingston, Mont., through Idaho and into southern Utah we talked a lot about us and our friendship. We had a great time on the drive. We also listened to a biography of Abraham Lincoln on tape.
As we got into southern Utah, I made a detour into a national park, thinking we could cut through and head south to Page, Ariz., rather than drive through Colorado City, Ariz., and the Mormon fundamentalist cult area, but there was a fee at the gate, so we had to turn back. We stopped to shoot the sunset and I shot this of Sarrah. She looks elated.

Sarrah Countdown #14

Sarrah on my uncle's mountain.

We found these horses in a pen just north of Livingston, Mont.

On the shore of Yellowstone Lake, Sarrah collected stones to write "I love you" for a photo for her boyfriend in Arizona, Dylan Jung. She later used the photo in a shadowbox for him.

Sarrah shooting the countryside from my grandmother's barn.

Sarrah's mobile office.

Sarrah in a wheat field on my aunt and uncle's ranch in Paradise Valley. The land they own includes the mountains in the background.

Sarrah Countdown #13

Along our hike on day two, we headed back to the ranch and had to hop a few fences.

At a kid's basketball court in Helena, Mont.

Perfect height.

In my grandmother's barn in Opheim, Mont.
Sarrah caught in the light streaming in the open window.

At my aunt and uncle's ranch in Paradise Valley, Sarrah and I stayed in their bed & breakfast cabin. It had a three-bed bedroom, a small sitting/dining room and a bathroom. Great with no microwave, tv, etc. Just a hotplate and a coffeemaker.

Sarrah Countdown #12

Roosevelt Arch, the main entrance to Yellowstone National Park. It used to be the only entrance to the park, and lies on the Montana side of the border. It's eight miles from my aunt and uncle's ranch in Paradise Valley.

Just inside the park, still in Montana before we reached Mammoth Hot Springs.

Sarrah was leaning over the edge of this cliff to snap a few photos. The wind was fierce, maybe 30-40 mph.

At Mammoth Hot Springs on the north side of Yellowstone National Park.

Sarrah really wanted to see this buffalo up close, so she wandered out to see it. Then it charged the truck. It really just wanted to cross the road and ran right in front of us to the other side.

On the shore of Yellowstone Lake, Sarrah put sunscreen on me. I was already burned by this point.

Sarrah Countdown #11

Sarrah had a thing for climbing silos and grain elevators while in Montana. This was a small silo next to my late grandfather's airplane hanger.

In this part of eastern Montana, it's so perfectly flat that she could likely see 50 miles from this high up.

Sarrah had to jump up and climb the side of the building first, just to get this high. She looks really cute in this photo.

Then she proceeded to climb the ladder, despite my protests. The one cop in Opheim was actually on duty because the Opheim High School was holding a reunion and we were heading into town to the picnic. The entire town plus a few hundred alumni were driving in to. Then I realized that in a town with population 99 - seriously - there isn't much to do, and probably every kid in town ever has climbed this thing.

And Sarrah reached the top, from which she could see the entire town and Canada, 10 miles to the north.

Sarrah Countdown #10

As she made her first steps into Montana, Sarrah and I got out of the truck, wandered into the median and shot photos of each other.

One of the best parts of the trip was spending a full day inside Yellowstone National Park. Buffalo were scattered across this valley.

Sarrah sitting with me on the steps of the Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago, shortly after seeing Sue, the most complete and second-largest Tyrannosaurus Rex fossil ever found.

On the Southwest Chief Amtrak train somewhere between Chicago and Flagstaff.

At lunch on the Southwest Chief Amtrak train somewhere between Chicago and Flagstaff.

Sarrah Countdown #9

Sarrah Wile's graduation from Sedona Red Rock High School.

Sarrah participated in a mock trial as a prosecutor. Here she is speaking to the judge.

And grilling a witness.

Sarrah was also a member of Kiwanis. Notice how she tries to hide. As she got older, she got much more comfortable being in front of the camera.

Sarrah Countdown #8

Sarrah t the Opheim High School reunion barbecue in the town's park.

The night before we left, we sat with aunt Laurie and uncle Alan, my twin cousins Katie and Jody and the ranch's resident pets.

In the back of pickup truck after the Redneck Fourth of July (the trap shoot), Sarrah looked great in the sunlight and wind.

My grandmother's farm includes a scrapyard of old, leftover farming equipment. A lot of it made for great photos.

I taught Sarrah how to drive stick.

The second day at my aunt Laurie and uncle Alan's ranch in Paradise Valley, Sarrah and I wandered the ranch shooting photos of everything. Alan gave us a tutorial of the local fauna too, which I found fascinating.

The first day at my aunt Laurie and uncle Alan's ranch in Paradise Valley, Sarrah went to meet my aunt's colts.

There's a character that an artist I follow on deviantART does called Pepper, who reminds me of the photo of Sarrah.

Sarrah Countdown #7

Sarrah meets my uncle Myron Redfield at the Opheim High School reunion barbecue in the town's park.

Sarrah square-dancing with my uncle Myron Redfield at the Opheim High School reunion street party.

My cousin Logan Redfield and Sarrah Wile giving me the redneck salute on mountain outside Helena, Mont.

Sarrah and Logan at a barn dance in Livingston, Mont., on the Fourth of July. Maybe it's genetic pride in my bloodline, but we Redfields are damn good looking. If this was just a random photo of two strangers, you'd likely say, "that's a beautiful-looking couple.